


Hell

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: All he wanted was some peace and quiet.  Was that too much to ask for?





	Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysteriousBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousBean/gifts).



> **Same as ever, FFXV and its content are the property of Square Enix.** I merely play around in the sandpit they've created.
> 
> Have you seen [this art](https://mysteriousbean5.tumblr.com/post/186051745011/for-shattering-colors-who-asked-for-aranea-and-an) of Aranea? No? Well you should, because it inspired this random thing.

When he leaves the Quay - and no, he does _not_ sneak - he has every intention of going to the spot he'd scouted the evening prior, throwing down a beach towel, and relaxing in the warm sand for a few hours with a new book. He anticipates the peace and relative quiet, removed from most of the foot traffic when it starts up. He awaits the high tide and the chance to burrow his toes into wet sand while water laps at his ankles, a joint sensation mostly lost to city folk.

He expects a few hours to himself, time to unwind and let the sun tease weeks of tension from his limbs as he slips into a light doze until duty, once again, comes calling.

What he gets instead is half an hour of awkward hell as _Aranea Highwind_ joins him, commandeers the shade under his umbrella, steals his suncream, and has him twitching for his daggers every time she throws a cheeky little smile over that one bare shoulder, eyes glinting with mischief and challenge.

"Need some cream, Ignis? You're looking rather red in the face."

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," he replies, a tad more curt than intended. But she outright _cackles_ at him when he apologises, leans over to pat him, almost too gently, on the foot.

"So easy to tease. I bet all the ladies just love you."

And that's the only warning he gets before her fingers curl _just so_ and her nails trail the length of his foot in one quick, aborted glide as he lets loose a most unseemly _squawk,_ throws his book aside, and scuttles backward as fast as he can. Outraged, scowling, and immune to the warm roll of her laughter. _Completely_ immune.

At least the others aren't around to witness his fall from grace.

"You are a truly wicked woman, Aranea."

"Tell me something I don't know, cutie."

... Well. Bloody bollocks.


End file.
